I am crushed under the anxiety, the pressure, the fear. I felt a knot well in my throat as I wandered, wings strapped uselessly to my sides and eyes sunken in, "you look worse than before, eat more." The idea of eating sounds inappropriate, absurd to my irrational mind, I don't deserve it. Murderers don't deserve lives, to live and laugh and be happy, and I am no exception. I've felt worse and worse, ever since I started blacking out more, started feeling less and less apart of anything. I could taste the iron of blood, the bitterness of (flesh, flesh flesh), an unsettling burning in my gut as my body works against whatever I've consumed. I feel queasy, restless and pained with each step as Sameira trudges beside me, her silence uncomfortable but presence reassuring as my lids lay half closed. 

I kept Sia on my mind, my concern for her well being taking root as soon as I saw her up on the cliff, staring death in the face with some sort of need, as if looking for a justifiable reason to push herself ever closer. I remember looking at her like she was the only thing that ever mattered, remembered feeling warm and happy because she was just looking at me, acknowledging my presence. I needed that validation, the vindication of my exist on this earth, that I wasn't just an ethereal spirit, alone and drifting through the world without a sense of purpose (not like I don't have one now either). She had been cold and it had hurt, it had hurt so much to hear her voice sound so callous, so cruel (Mama I'm so sorry, mama please forgive me). I can't remember anything after that, after a quickened heart rate and sinking stomach, my memory hazy, I could only remember muffled words, voices like mine (Brother, it hurts) but drastically different, I woke up crying and alone, my infection burning vigorously, recently reopened by my own hand (Stop it, I don't want it— I'm sorry I'm sorry!).  

I unknowingly began scratching at my shoulders, aggressively scraping my teeth against the ragged skin with the whites of my eyes peeking out, panting while I stare in the distance. She's dying, watch her there, look into her eyes and tell her. Tell her she's dying, tell her how you feel. I bite into my shoulder, gasping as It waltzes closer, haunting voice a venomous whisper, despite their distance I could feel their breath on my neck. It rolls down, caressing my sweaty tresses and smoothing out over my flecked hide. It dances in similar spots, dark legs taking It closer to me, a wicked grin sprawled across the familiar face, my mother mocking me with a toxic sing song voice. Behind It I see Sia, hounds on her heels with fear swallowing her champagne face, her inevitable doom coming as soon as our eyes collided. The predators took her down, their strength and numbers too much for Sia to handle and she collapses, claws and teeth descending upon her. For every scream that tears from her throat, I bite deeper and deeper until there's blood and spit and tears colliding on my body ("Amara— please"). This seems like  a hellish nightmare, because I cannot convince myself it isn't real, even though I know it's okay, that this isn't Sia. I swallow my blood, warm and metallic and scarily comforting as it washes down my throat. 

I'm rushing before I even have time to register my movement, my shock and the twisted fear that takes residency in my gut. Sameira is in pursuit, her tongue lolled out as she chases me down with concern for my well being. "Being irrational, she is fine. We can visit soon, but you are not in good health." You don't understand, not seeing Sia made me sick, to think that she could really be dead and that my feelings for her could never be whispered between us, that I could never share with her how deep my love goes. Something ticks, a teasing tick tock, tick tock (what if she doesn't love me? Please love me, love me lOVE ME L O V E  M E). I feel the ticking continue, my mood flaring with a foreign passion, my legs thundering against the earth as I open my wings, steady, hesitantly. "Mara, please! Do not pursue, lying skin stealer!" You wouldn't understand the way I feel, perhaps on a minute scale, but I need to do this, I can't live peacefully if I don't. I have to see her. 

My fly to the Throat is tragic to witness, the brittle air taking me through the clouds, numbing my body as the signs of an upcoming Frostfall become present. "Come back, turn around! We check on her another day, it is too cold for flight now! Late late! Mara it is dark, you will be lost." I'll be okay, perhaps getting lost will be the best for me, maybe then I can accept death easier, without remorse for abruptly losing myself and my belief in the world. I am but a burden to the earth, another being to take and take and take and never give, I take lives, waste lives, precious ones that could have flourished to be something beautiful (Mother, look what I've made! I thought the face was the prettiest, so it's the centerpiece! Don't you love it?) I bring myself beneath the cover of clouds, ignoring Sameira's frantic pleading for me to turn around and come back to her, to land and return to her side. I know you mean well, but I cannot return to you, not when I'm so invested in seeing Sia, not when I've so willingly gotten myself trapped in my anxieties. 

I see her, my searching eyes pinpointing the familiar amber champagne with a reluctant smile drawing across my lips, tears of joy welling in my eyes as I circle once, twice, getting closer before I take notice of her position, spilled against the ground. She's at such a secluded place, maybe she was sleeping? But the sight of reddened sand, barely hidden beneath her ebony tail. Oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgoditwasrightshe— I'm always right. Look at her, what a tragic thing, you've only just made it. 

The landing is frantic, the impatience of my mind becoming a danger as I crash into the sands with a great solid hit, joints screaming with the pressure of my landing, gasping for air as I surge forward. I'm tripping over myself, eyes brimming with tears and I take no time in getting to Sia, choking and tasting blood (I know what you've done, I know where you've been. Disgusting, do you hear me? DISGUSTING). A new layer of blood patches my skin, my flight having reopened the only just clotted wound, the burning none of my concern as I tremble, horrified of what lays before me. 

She didn't, she didn't. 

Nonononono this is wrong, this is wrong. Oh oh, what have we here? My eyes follow my dam's figure, watching her teeter over the midnight babe upon the ground, fresh and wet and— hers. I'm panicking in so many ways, overwhelmed by so many thoughts and feelings (make it stop, please it hurts make it stop!) There was blood staining the earth, the aftermath of the birth I had missed, and I felt my stomach plummet because she was at risk. Whether it be her body or me that betrays her first, only time will tell. 

The idea of her death was devastating, savagely bringing ruin to my emotions. She didn't, nono she couldn't. My attachment to her becomes present, my childish greed apparent at the thought of someone else touching her, of her body being touched and explored by someone who I was not, by a foul disease that took the form of an egotistical dick-wielder. I choke back my tears, trying not to show the hurt even though I knew it was a futile attempt. I can only hold my tongue for a minute, biting it as I try to compose myself enough to talk, but my emotions have taken flight and I'm becoming a mess (Mommy can't see me be sad, she'll be angry, mad mad. I don't want to hurt again, be happy for mommy). 

I cough as soon as my mouth opens, blood pooling with my spit as I stare down at Sia. I don't know how to feel, angry, sad, disappointed, jealous, disgusted, should I simply cry? I don't know what to do with myself, feeling my mind slipping out like a teen avoiding responsibilities, through the window and into the night. "Y-you—" Is all I can manage, tearing at my lip until more blood pooled, chewing aggressively as an attempt not to overreact, I had to stay calm, calm. There was a baby, I couldn't yell (Look at this thing! This is no child of mine, you lying bitch! You let someone else have you, and I bet you liked it. How sick, how putrid of a mongrel like you!) I'm angry, I'm mad, I am furious. Had she never considered my gross attachment to her to be more than just some close friendship? Had she never caught my lovesick gaze?

How how how, why why why. 

Someone had touched her, had felt her and taken her beneath them. She had let them plant the seed, they had committed a shameful act and I bet she liked it. I start grinding my teeth together, breathing laboured as I stare down at the baby and then at Sia with absolute raw disgust and fear. What was I supposed to do? What do you say to someone you love, to someone you've broken yourself over and over for, who has had a kid that isn't yours, what do you say? How do I voice my feelings without it all blowing up in my fucking face?

Isn't it unfair? Look at her, she gets to be happy with her baby, he gets to have a mom. She gets to live and raise her child, but look at me Amara. I refuse to turn my head, stuttering gasps escaping my lips as It gets closer and closer, stepping over the black youth that has settled against the ground. I make eye contact with burning amber eyes, hurt and emotional— this is the most emotion I've ever seen in It's eyes. Look at ME, don't you see me? Don't you know how sad it is, that you never had a mother, that you never will. I had Seele, Seele had taken me in, she had treated me like her child, raised me. She wasn't the most attendant foster dam, but she had done the job, and I cannot thank her enough. She sacrificed herself to protect me, to keep me and that stallion alive. You're destined to be alone. Sikeax will find someone else, she already has. She's moved on, your delusional fantasies about being happy with her are false, she will never love you. Not now, not ever. Please. I want It to stop. I can't bear It anymore, I failed I know, but I don't want to admit my pain, I don't want to admit that It's won. 

This pain, this feeling of having my chest torn open (isn't it already?), of my heart being scooped up within clawed hands and crushed between calloused fingers, my blood staining everything (no, it's alright. I- it's okay, I can just wait. It doesn't hurt, I promise dear.) The overpowering need to scream tears at my throat, to scream and wail and throw a tantrum because life isn't fair and I will never be a relevant piece of Sikeax's life. "H- how could you? How could you do this to me, what did I do to fucking deserve this?" My voice is unsteady, my lips quivering as my tears come faster now, my breathing uneven and panicked as I look down at Sia, half tempted to turn and flee, but also begging for an answer. It was too late to leave now, I'd dug myself a fucking grave and jammed one foot straight into it (I'll make you pay for this, I'll make you wish that man had never touched you, that you'd never given birth to such a disgusting thing), I was furious and my body obviously twitched and trembled, my gasping was aggressive and loud, and my fury was not to be quiet. I would be loud, I was furious and hurt, I was going to scream and shout and be as mad as I wanted to be, as envious and uncaring of Sia's feelings as I wanted. 

It all comes crashing down on me like the climax of a tragedy, the terrible ending to the tragic hero whose persistent pain and foolishness brought them down. I suffer this pain, immense and unsettling as it rocks closer and closer until my eyes meet Sia's and she's burning brighter than the sun, enraged and absolutely fuming with something I will never grasp. I interrupted something important, something innocent and sacred, a ritual shared between mother and child. It was to be special, with loving coos and gentle licks from the dam while the babe learns the expanse of its existence and the capacity of its love. I do not understand the importance of this process, the ritualistic way in which you must wash the child, maybe because I'd never gotten the chance to have this, to share this moment with my mother (Hang in there baby, please, for mama? Please stay alive oh please please. Don't leave me, not again, I don't want to lose another). She died too soon, leaving me with her dried bodily fluids, flaky and disgusting I came into this world just as I would go out. A disaster, a catastrophic mess whose only talent was fucking things up even more without trying. Seeing Sia so angry over something so insignificant made me want to shout at her, to tell her to get over it because oh fucking well, it's not that big a deal. I was getting colder with each passing second, my intolerance for her temper was growing like a sponge underwater, expanding and soon enough I'd be too full. 

I didn't get her reaction, I didn't understand why she became so angry, so suddenly souring (I swear mother, I've done nothing wrong. I don't know what you're talking about) and letting her features harden. She was scowling at me like I'd insulted her, or spat in her face, like I'd done something so unspeakably terrible. Me, doing the unspeakably terrible thing, when she'd let herself get fucked (Dirty, disgusting, your filth makes me ill. Get away from me). The images of a man breathing hot and heavy, trembling with pleasure because of her, taking her beneath him like a beast, sinning with an angel. 

She wasn't an angel though, not anymore. She'd let someone take their filthy hands and smear them all over, they'd dirtied her and touched her in ways I could only dream, in ways I knew she'd never allow me. Perhaps that's what got to me, that I knew my deep feelings were not reciprocated, that I was cursed to live my life knowing full well I would never be loved. They'd plucked her wings, torn them free from her shoulders as soon as they made that child together, she'd lost her halo when she offered her body. How gross, how sick. I cringe at the idea of Sia speaking to the man, teasing him and getting him riled up for their big finale. What a fucking joke (Stop, stop it hurts. Please stop). 

What hits me hardest is her defensive position, her stance over her son like she was protecting the vulnerable child from a pack of wolves. She didn't trust me, (mommy, why? Why do you do this mommy? Have I been bad?) she didn't trust me and maybe she was right not to. I was unstable, a bomb waiting to blow and when I did she was ready to defend that child of hers. I wouldn't hurt him, not in this state, when I'm still me, in control of my own actions. I felt the stinging of tears as she kept herself between me and the boy, a barrier to keep the peasants from the royalty, the young prince himself from the mongrel that begged on the street. What a thought, what a weird place Sia must be in to think that I would ever hurt something of her flesh and blood. 

Sia thinks that she has the permission, the audacity to offer to become my mother, to raise me like a helpless child. I laugh, I full on laugh a forceful, disgusting laugh that burns my throat and makes me choke on blood, letting it fly from my lips like poison. How petty, her blows are low and her aim is true. It hurts, it does. I can feel my heart plummeting, cracking and shattering like precious glass work at each verbal strike she takes. My response is hesitant, I can feel the overwhelming fatigue of my travels (or perhaps it was another black out approaching?) washing over me, but that does not stop me from spitting acid in the same manner she had. "You think, you fucking think I want to be treated like a child, do you know how sick that is? How insensitive it is to say that you want to teach me not to be selfish and to be kind? I'm sorry, Ms. Perfect, that I didn't have a fucking mother or father to teach me right from wrong. I'm sorry I was raised by what must be fucking savages to you, I didn't get the privilege of parental love or a family. So fucking sorry." I'm mad, seething with white hot rage that makes my blood boil and heart throb. I was sick and tired of being looked down on, of people looking at me with pity because of my parentless childhood. I spit blood and saliva at Sia's hooves, ears flat and my mind blank as I act before I think. I stopped caring about what I did, I'd already royally screwed myself over, might as well go all in if that's what she wanted.

I never had the luxury of being loved, never had the privilege to be comforted by the safety of a mother's embrace or a father's gentle words, never supported in any of my decisions or scolded for any of the wrong ones. I was just let loose, forced to eat solids before my legs had even adjusted to carrying my fragile body, to depend on strangers for protection and the ocean for conversation. I had a quick childhood that ended abruptly, swallowed by my sudden inability to carry myself without fear of the shadows that loomed around me, of the beasts that wandered in the night (That's illogical brother, monsters are fables, stories to make children behave.) I had a lot of alone time, where I could reflect and realize that I was a curse, bringing disaster, a being of calamity. I was a plague of death and destruction, witnessing bloodshed from very early on, when the world should have been bright and innocent I saw only the void of souls that screamed back, bones and bodies that would surface the marsh. 

I'm enraged, grinding my teeth together and shedding tears because I am weak. The Skinwalker waltzes by Sia, smirking and plotting It's next move, It's next intricate lie that would entangle me in It's trap and make me play right into their hands. I was scared, so scared that after this Sia would never look at me again, that we wasted our breath with the earth god (sometimes I forgot about that), that our friendship meant nothing, ruined by my selfishness. I knew I was irrationally selfish, that my jealousy was to be my downfall, that my insecurities convinced me that that stallion was better than me in every way. Sia would go back to him, she would love him and they would be happy and I'd have to grit my teeth and smile with false happiness for her success. My failure would be rubbed right into my face, it would be smashed into it and rubbed around each time I looked at Sia.

She was everything I was not, beautiful, her body curvy and vibrant, coat glistening. She could smile, she could live and be happy and talk normally to others without faultering. Sia was tall and elegant, possessing a luscious figure and untangled tresses. She seemed to take pride in her hygiene, clean and fresh and more than I would ever be. She had no reason to hang out with something as pitiful as me, she didn't have to associate with something as foul as I, she could easily walk away. I was a polar opposite to her, secluded and undevout to any herd or god, I was an feable, poor sight. Looking at me was like staring down at trash, at a pile of dog shit. I was unpleasant, my stench was rotten and repulsive, and my dull coat and distant eyes made me all the more unwelcoming. 

I snap, like a spine under pressure it is quick and loud, instantaneous as her words are dropped. I dissociate, peeling out of my skin to wander as an other worldly being of light and space, with cosmic eyes and translucent skin. My expression falls blank, the tears stopping abruptly, drying on my cheeks. The blood that fled my mouth has Lon since dried on my chin, accenting my already blood smeared coat. This was Sia's fatal mistake, she had thrown gas on the fire and now I was burning up. What I said now was monotone, calm and collected words strung up with poison as they flow from my mouth. "Please, don't let me stop you. Name the kid, Sikeax. Give the bastard child a name. I'm intrigued to see what you've come up with. And please, save your sympathy pleas for someone else, someone who actually cares about these things. So what if you need to put off this little show of affection? At least you can give it to him, at least he'll have you to love him for the rest of his life. He could've ended up like me, and you obviously don't want that because I'm selfish. Isn't that right?" My detachment from the situation, from myself, it's the best thing I've ever had happen. It's something I experience every so often, where I finally feel everything click into place and my emotions slip into the night, it's like a plague that grants freedom from my heavy burden. It can last from hours to weeks, my lack of emotion a god send during my most stressful hours, when a black out threatens to take me on a journey I do not consent to.

I scoff at her words, a final deal to her petty mockery. Was she trying to make me mad? Did she want to see me, in this uncaring state, hit a whole new low in this mindset? She was feeding the fire with her hatred, walking on mighty thin ice as I responded to her, hitting low because if she wanted to be fighting dirty, I'd do just that. My verbal punches were thrown carelessly but with violent force, prepared to obliterate any obstacles in my way. "Are you proud of the dick you took? Are you proud of yourself for getting a stallion to even look at you? Or what, did you have to bribe him? Drug him? Beg him to take you?" I keep a stone cold expression throughout the entire thing, eyes flicking up and down Sia's face with a carelessness and disinterest I'd never had when looking at her. Normally I would feel warmth, raw happiness, but now it was just... Disgust? Disinterest? Hatred? Perhaps a mix, a bubbling stew of all three that took over me and used me like a puppet to fuck my relationship up even more. I don't think there was any salvaging it now, is messed up big time and my punishment was eternal lonliness, a lifetime spent alone with only the whispering shadows to keep me company.

I am a feeble attempt of happiness, a desperate hand shoved into the swirling tides that make up love, something of an affair that bloomed into commitment, a tragedy that had only just begun. I am the creation of naivety and youth, of eagerness and hormones, an impatient seed to unready earth, planted out of season and left unattended. I am produced by amateurs, by inexperienced gardeners who pat the soil with rocks and unclean hands, who pour too much water and plant the seeds too close, who cannot tell between good soil and plain shit. I was born incomplete, sprouted into this world when I was barely ready, far too close to the surface, for when I rose I brought ruin to the soil. 

My life is nothing, it will always be nothing, not to me, perhaps to no one. I will wander this earth, nomadic and forgotten, solemnly dreaming of days where my name would reach the borders of someones mind, anyone's mind. I wanted to be remembered for something, anything, I didn't want my face to fade, to become a distant memory that you cannot discern from a dream. I wanted what I could never have, what I did not deserve. I wanted happiness, warm, quiet nights spent beside someone who held tightly to my heart as though it may reveal the secrets of life to them. I wanted genuine smiles, unintentional laughs that sprouted from simply seeing the one that I loved, of pain in my gut from laughing all too much. I was an idiot, pushing away everything that was given to me that could lead to those dreams, that opened the gates to a better life all because I listened to the deepest hollows of my troubled mind. 

It hurts, it hurts to do this, to lose myself in my emotions like a balloon to the wind, wanting to cry because I'd let myself go when I should have had a tighter grip. I had intentionally hurt someone I'd cared so much for, whose acceptance and love I sought out like a blind child seeks its mother, hands out and eyes shut tight because I am too much of a coward to face the world and its demons. I'd done this all to myself, running from everything that moved because I'd been beaten by my demons over and over, I'd watched them wash over me like waves of a storm, letting them shake me around and beat me down until I was rooted firmly to the belief that I was worse than the shit beneath my feet. 

Sikeax talks again, a reaction to my words that I expected. She was blunt, harsh, and I accepted her words. My eyes cannot meet hers, cannot hold the embrace of cerulean while the haunting pressure of her words brings me down, smashing my walls and breaking down my barriers with but a few syllables. She shows strength, potential to bring me into further ruin as I stand before her, waiting for her to say more, waiting like a pig to slaughter. I anticipated more than that, I expected harsher words that would blow me into oblivion with the force and emotion pushing her points, her articulate attacks hitting my weakest areas. I don't speak, keeping my mouth shut (can't talk unless mommy says so, mommy might get mad). 

I took this time to watch the interaction between mother and child, to stare blankly at the foreign bond that was formed the instant the child spilled from between its dams legs. How could one love something that had brought them suffering. who made them bloated and sick and weary, who could not control its cries nor its bladder. I watch with timid fascination, feeling otherworldly in the way Sikeax interacted with her son, nurturing and softer than down, calling to him like he would flee if she was all too loud or firm, speaking in a gentle voice that sounded so foreign to me (I miss my baby, please bring him back to me. Bring him back, I need my son, I need to know he's alright). 

"Amara, listen to Sameira." I reach out for the familiarity of my bond, only now realizing that I missed the feeling of you at my side, a subtle reminder that perhaps I wasn't as hopelessly alone as I'd like to believe. "You are being fool, listen to Sikeax. She cares for you, Amara. She has given you many opportunity to be happy, to find help. You are being selfish, Sikeax is right. Sameira thinks that you need to tell her you are very sorry, you should not have said those things. Bad things. Bad Amara. You take it all for granted, you think you can stop getting hurt and stop hurting others by shutting it all out. Stupid. It is natural to get hurt, you should be expecting pain. It is in- inevitable. A part of life, what makes Amara, Amara. You have made Sikeax upset, and even though Sameira do not know what bond there is between mother and baby, Sameira know it is important. Because you did not receive this comfort does not mean baby of Sikeax should not. Sameira is hurt too, Amara. And Sikeax. We are hurt, and it is because you cannot accept help when it is given, because you have a distorted image of yourself. Do not bottle emotions up, cry Mara, cry because you are strong, not because you are weak." 

I can feel it, the threat of brewing tears that have been building up since this began, of your pain stacking atop mine, of our endless cycle of hurt (I won't get hurt, I know because there is no one to hurt me). I realize Sikeax has started talking again, has started recollecting on times she has offered me shelter, offered me healing (How again did we get hurt brother, do you recall? I do not, but I know it hurts. It smells most awful.) and love, she offered all that I needed, that I wanted and I turned her down. I was pitying myself, moping like a brat whose parents had confiscated their toys because they had misbehaved, with a pouty lip and false sense of innocence. Maybe I was selfish and stupid because I could not accept that anyone could love something like me, turning a blind eye to everything people offered with calloused hands and sore joints from their labours. I cast away their offerings because I was too stupid to see that I was doing this all to myself, that I was the one who had broken me, the one who had hurt me, my endless torment of avoiding getting hurt by others was futile because in the end it was me hurting myself. 

I never wanted to accept any of Sikeax's offers for shelter under the watch of this humble herd, the one who had rein over the wavering dunes and whose tales of strength were plenty, who braved the harsh summers and bitterly dry winters in favour of staying on this isolated island where their safety was ensured. I was a danger, a feral animal caught in a trap, with sharpened fangs and foaming mouth, whose claws were sharp and eyes were cold, my unexpected blackouts could lead to certain despair. I didn't want to put innocent lives at risk, not when they trusted me and fed me, kept me protected from the outside forces, when I was already a burden to them. 

I had brushed over the subject of Sikeax offering to heal me, to mend my flesh with the magic she had earned through hard work and devotion. I have no recollection of being given such treatment, of Sikeax attempting to heal me and rid me of the pain I suffered (That son of a bitch, I'll get payback on that sick bastard), of the infection that I so hastily forgot about amidst nightmares and anxiety, letting it spread like a plague in a crowd, it became a problem that I still pushed aside so that I could roll in self pity and loathing, so that I could cry and scream out at the shadows. 

"Talk to her, Amara. She waiting for you." I open my lips, feeling my expression fall into distress while I grasp at nothing but empty air, my mind a clean slate at the most inconvenient of times. "I- I can't do it Sia." The nickname surfaces, my shoulders slouching as a sign of surrender, my defeat apparent in the way I let my entire being drop, slumping over like waving the white flag was the more exhausting thing I'd ever managed to do. "I can't do anything right, I'm so stupid. I'm so so stupid. I just— I can't understand why anyone would want to help me, why anyone would consciously offer more than a smile because they pity me, not because they care." Whatever I was saying, I wasn't thinking about it. I was letting the words go, rushing from my lips in a controlled, painstakingly quiet manner. I was uncertain and afraid as a deer crossing the road, unsure of was would become of me. Whether there was a car speeding around the bend, on the path to ending me, or if my trip was to be a safe one with no obstacles to overcome. Maybe I wanted to get hit, maybe I wanted to get crushed under the man made rubber tires, to feel the last of my life slip from my lips as easily as words could. "Maybe I have been asking for this, for this pain because I think I'm deserving of it, of getting torn apart at my own hand. I'm trying to be considerate, to distance myself so I can't hurt anyone anymore because dammit, Sia! I'm sick and tired of waking up with someone else's blood on my hands, of fearing what I've done since I blanked out. I don't know who I am anymore, what I am anymore. I could have hurt you, Sia, I could still, and I would wake up and never know until I saw you again. This is why I can't live in the Throat, I can't do it because everyone will be at risk because of me. I don't want to hurt people anymore Sia, I don't want to," I felt the tears as soon as I started talking about unintentionally hurting others, of bringing my hooves and teeth into flesh without being aware of it, of blacking out and opening my eyes hours later with the fear of what I'd done this time at the forefront of my mind. I couldn't continue like this, but I couldn't stop it just like that either, this was an irreversible problem, something that had rooted itself to me the moment I'd made the wish to get away. I'd ruined myself on a deeply subconscious level, where my mind sought solace from itself.   

It would be a sad sight to look at, my tears coming down with ruthless ferocity as I bite my lip in an attempt to stop it from trembling, with my knees wobbling and weak as the weight of my actions hits my shoulders like an elephant falling to my back. I am gasping, heart racing like its got somewhere to be, something to win, wild and untamed in the way it threatens to tear form my chest (MAKE IT STOP MOMMY IT HURTS SO BADLY MAKE IT S T O P PLEASE MOMMY I JUST WANT TO DIE). I deserve to hear what Sia has to say, what her opinion of me is. Hobgoblin is the one who has given her the idea, who rooted the idea of my monstrosity of an existence into her crowned head. I swallow harshly, knowing now that there was nothing left for me, that this was it, I'd lost everything, every hope, dream or wish that I'd ever held. They were all crushed under the overwhelming truth of Sia's words. 

Why do I always mess up? Why do I always react the wrong way, say the wrong thing, break under the pressure I'd been crushing myself under. I was holding the knife, I was the one inflicting the pain, the one drawing blood from my own body, the one letting pink scars flower over my hide, making a prized garden of suffering. I felt all of my bare skin cry out for attention as I look at where my spit had landed, felt it all scream because I'd always been the one wielding the weapon, always the one causing the damage to my feeble chestnut body. Why couldn't I stop? What did I see in my cries, in my tears, that was so appealing to feel, to experience the great ecstasy of uncontrollable pain with a smile. Was I so fucked up as to think I was every bit deserving of my deepest wounds, psychological and physical, of every wound that I had ever suffered. "No." Is how you answer, firm in your beliefs, I could feel the way you began to get annoyed by me, that you were getting sick of my self pitying behaviour. "No one deserves to get hurt. But get hurt anyway, you cannot avoid it. Please stop, Sameira hurts too."  Thank you, but it's not that easy. I cannot change how I had lived for years upon a whim  because you want me too, it will take time, it will take will power and I will need help. Learning that I am okay will not be an easy thing, I will be braving a hurricane in a boat fit for calm afternoons in small rivers, I will be pushing tons of rubble from my body with but my bare hands, and Samiera, you will have to stand aside and simply provide moral support, you will have to push me when I no longer want to move, when I am bleeding and my eyes are runny, I entrust you to guide me back into line whether it be through persuasion or force. 

Sia will be a good mother, I know she will. It's apparent in the way she talks of how she will teach her son, how she carefully moves about him, tentative to his needs and patient with him. Her protective stance shows she is willing, that she will protect the boy even if he is a bastard child, even if he was created in a womb unwilling. I know she will raise him well, that she will be the best mother anyone could ever ask for, that this child is lucky to have such a kind, caring and emotional dam to keep him safe. She is a fierce mother, although new to the ways, she will learn quickly, I have no doubt, she will learn and grow beside her son. Together they will love one another, that this boy will have a better childhood than either of us did, and I wanted him to have it, to know what it's like to run without a care in the world and discover the world one piece at a time. 

Zhu, that is what Sia has named him. It was fitting, it clung to the boy like rain to fur, it was written all over his pure dark body, the name was perfect for him. It rolled well enough off of the tongue, from what I could hear between my persistent muffled sobs (I'm trying to be quiet, mommy can't hear that I'm weak). I smile, small and out of the blue, it springs out like the first budding flower of the spring, subtle at first, then all at once. "What a fitting name," I offer with my tears still present, knowing this will do nothing to mend what destruction I'd brought between us, it was like me sticking a band-aid on an exposed organ, saying, "all better now." It was far from that, the uneasy tension between us still looming over me like some sort of monster, breathing down my neck and panting as I flinched away from it, as if avoiding acknowledging it would make it go away, would make everything better. 


I look down at the ground, swallowing at the uneasy feeling that sweeps over me, avoiding looking at her for fear that I will do something irrationally stupid again. I know I will, I can feel it in my bones that I am destined to say something again, that I will break our relationship further and further until there's nothing left but tattered threads. "I am not perfect—" I whisper, trying to gather up the bits and pieces I had let scatter, pushing my urges to weep off to the side, where they would no longer be a problem for at least a few minutes. I needed to do something, to say something that could waver Sikeax's tainted opinion on me, on the things I have done and her expectations of my failure. "I'm no better than the shit under our hooves, than the murderers in the night. I am disgustingly flawed, I will never reach perfection, I will never even be able to look at it." I stared down, eyes settling upon my blood and spit, my tears having settled down but still there, falling with a more subtle nature. 

She tells why she had done it, how she had turned to someone for help when her and Goblin were suffering, when their pain was so great that they had to depend on a sex hungry savage to feed them. I eye the wounds, healing slowly but surely, but present and concerning in the manner they have been placed, who had dared to hurt her? My stomach flips, and the familiar feeling of burning rage, of an uncontrollable lust for blood, of something that wished for me to bring an end to whoever manipulated Sia the way they had, who had used her when she was hurt. I grind my teeth together, brows narrowing as I feel your supportive push, knowing what I intended to say even before I did. "A- are you okay?" I murmur, looking up after ages of avoiding it, of running from her callous gaze. I wouldn't hide my concern, my worry for her safety, damning myself for not being there when she had needed help. I could have been there for her, I could have gotten Hobgoblin food, and Sia could have avoided this entire thing. "He.. he wasn't rough was he? He didn't hurt you?" I can hear the prominent tremble of my voice, the unsteadiness in the way I walk forward by just an inch. "I should have been there, I shouldn't have been off somewhere feeling sorry for myself, I should have been there to help you." I felt guilty, guilty and stupid for not being here for Sia. All this time, all this time, she has been here for me, and yet I have offered nothing in return for her. No wonder she believes I am selfish, I have taken her love and in return given mine, but within the confines of my mind, never letting such confessions slip from my lips, like if I let them go they'll come back to bite me. "I'm so sorry, I am so sorry—" The words are stumbling out, drunk on my passion and unrequited love, letting my emotions and heart speak what I never had the courage to. "Sia I am so sorry, I— you've done so much for me, and look at me. What have I given you? What have I done that makes me worthy of your kindness, of our friendship, of you? As you said, all I've done is push you away, push and push but you still try. I want to change it, I- I want to try and do something for you," It was understandable, if she didn't want me, if she wanted me to leave, if she couldn't bear to look at me anymore. I was disgusting, I was pitiful, for how could you look at shit and think, "I want help from that." I anticipated her answer, holding down my panic until she gave one, heart pounding like an angry neighbour come to complain about the volume of your music, bashing upon the door with a desperate need to get your attention. It thrummed faster and faster, my knees as weak as Zhu's likely were, gelatinous and unsteady as I stood before Sia, now letting my eyes fall once more because I cannot bring myself to meet her eyes when she says no, to look through cobalt lenses and see the world as she does, to see the way she suffers and all that her eyes give away. I will avoid the collision of watery amber and clear blue, of the new mother and newly broken, of the successful and the childish, of friends whose friendship was in tatters because of ones foolish faults.  

Harsh, choking sobs wrack my body, my weak state of mind opening the doors for so much more than just my own troubling thoughts, a grand party for all the terrors to come waltzing in with their hunched backs and taloned hands. They all come pouring in from Their lips, grin spread wide, a blanket over the sun, casting down a tremendous shadow that threatened to consume me with pointed teeth and a flickering pink tongue. I would not escape Their grasp, not when I am so faint-hearted, not when I am still a moldable figure to be crushed and folded over by their rough hands, shaped into something I do not want to be. A pity, I was beginning to like your more aggressive side, wouldn't you agree? It hums, throaty and peculiar, a familiar face snarky and taunting, They know well what they're doing and I easily submit to their will. 

What is the point of fighting, when the one person you'd been fighting for your entire life has looked down on you with such hate?

Why push on when you have no where else to go, nothing more to do, when you have wasted what short time you were granted on this earth? Why let yourself go on when your hope had already been torn from you years ago?

It seems to keep coming back, the idea that I am no longer needed here, that Sikeax has cast me from her gaze and I will forever wander like a dismayed spirit, drifting without purpose and fading with each pained breath I take. I crave her attention more than I do anyone else's, it was always about her. Her approval, her acceptance, it was never about me. I'd be damned if I said now that I did not care about her, it would be like saying I did not breathe, that I did not have a heart that beat beneath layers of tissue and bone. I cared for her more than I did myself, and letting her go was like being asked to sever my legs and leave them behind to live on their own accord, to abandon them and forget that they ever existed. Even the idea brings a bitter taste to my mouth, because I could not let Sikeax go, even if she wanted to remove me from her life completely. I would suffer in silence, the quiet kind where you seem to tolerate the stinging that takes over your entire body until finally you become numb, I would watch unfazed at a distance as she found others to replace me, others who weren't troubled in the head or so needy, who would not switch from sweet to foul in a matter of a few grotesque sobs. 

I wanted to believe what she said, that I wasn't stupid, that I was at least average, but no matter what I could not drop the feeling that she was lying. That's right, a lie. She just wants to get back under your skin, don't you see it? Look her in the eyes, tell me she doesn't look like she wants to get rid of you. I'm still gasping, my heart rate growing rapid as Sikeax's face distorts, shimmering like sweat on active hide, rippling like calm summer waters, pulling apart until she was just bits and pieces, pale threads of expression that sent my gut into a frenzy of knotting. With a click of Their tongue it all shits, pulling back together like a dying star in reverse, the explosion rewinding and her face knitting back together, woven with seething hatred and pity. What I hate most is someone pitying me, like I'm some half dead animal they've found on the side of the road, whose body is broken but sides still rising as death takes its time to take it. I was not something to pity, not something to look at like a starved child in a third world country, I wasn't shit to scrape off the bottom of your boot. 

That's it, be angry, get mad. Hate, hate, hA— Sia's words cut into the Skinwalkers, my eyes directed from golden ice to sweetened atlantic pools, bluer than the sky and more lively than the flowers in spring, than the world regaining colour at the first sign of birdsong. She wasn't mad anymore, the faux hatred I'd seen had melted away like ice in the sun, dripping down her chin and disappearing beneath the red sands. "I— I just don't like people worrying for me, n— no one should worry about something like me, I'm not worth it. I don't know how not to look at myself that way Sia, that's all I've ever done, it's all I know how to do." Is all I have to say, swallowing what feels like rocks as I try to tame the insufferable pain of speaking all of this aloud. I had never said these things out loud, never more than a constant hushed whisper in the back of my mind. I'd learn to accept that all those harsh insults were for me, that all my pent up hatred for myself built up into an endless flow of soured syllables. I cannot see myself in any sort of light, whether it be because of my physique or personality, I would never loom over anything, instead at awe at the piles of shit that would tower and look over me. I was less than the dirt beneath me, than the scum crawling across the earth who had murdered the innocent and taken the pure, I was side by side with them perhaps, as we were one in the same. 

I know I'd done it, the act of killing. I'd done it unknowingly at birth, breaking through the barrier that separated me from reality with fatal force. I came out fragile and abrupt, all too soon for my mother who was still adjusting to the ways of pregnancy, amateur at carrying a new life within her bloated body. I ended her life without hesitance, ruthless at the age of none, a killer before I even had a name. Whether or not I remember it how it actually happened, I don't recall. I remember being aware of the brightness around me, of the smell of safety and too much home, of sick and uncertain while the sea rolled its way towards my mother like eager hounds, swallowing her body as though it was its last meal. She had no time to teach me the ropes of childhood, of life, of anything but sorrow, shoving it down my throat like a frustrated bird feeding its wailing chick. I was force fed remorse before I had even developed a sense of space, developing feelings that made me hurt before I was even standing, swallowed by anguish in my premature state. It wasn't the ideal birth for an underdeveloped child, and my father seemed unable to handle the idea of single parenthood, because he too let himself get torn apart by bittersweet misery, of tragic love that began all too soon. 

I was doomed to repeat my parents mistakes, to let novice love consume my everything, to let myself get lost in lighter ebony locks, in a sea of kind and gentle, familiarity. I craved that, craved intimacy shared between only the closest, with an amber champagne that had be entranced at such an early age, with her perfected speech and pretty eyes, I was at a loss for words. She seemed elegant, sophisticated in ways I could only ever dream of being, she was strong and independent, parading around boasting that she would fight monsters and proclaiming we would go on wild adventures together. That's what always caught me in the end, the idea of together. I didn't know how to go about it, how to handle the situation at hand, because every second I spend with her was like heaven on earth, where my worries could melt away and leave way for something so much more grand. A young angel in the eyes of an ugly duckling like me, an ivory swan beside something foul and black.  

Look at the way she's looking at you Amara, she's disgusted by you. You're selfish and sickening, she doesn't want you anymore. She's tired Amara, just as you are, but she's tired of you, of putting up with your pity party parade, she wants you to leave, can't you tell she doesn't need something like you around her or her son? My eyes linger on Sia's look of disgust, and then to Their twisted smirk because They know They've won, they know They've broken me to the point of no return, that salvation was no longer an option in the way the venom seeped from Their lips and tainted my thoughts. I was just more baggage to Sia, an extra weight to lug around like a boulder strapped to her shoulders, useless and painstaking. 

I stare at her, dumbfounded and without a response. I didn't need logic to know what I'd done to myself, I didn't need to think about it, I knew that I'd formed a habit of gnawing anxiously at my skin until it bruised and broke and bled, until my lips were stained red and my skin was marred. I bore mysterious wounds that were impossible to inflict to myself, places where no tooth of mine could take hold (Stop fighting me, it will only make things worse), bruises and swelling like hooves of another. I almost wanted to laugh at Sia's words, laugh between my hushed bawling because how do you tell your life long friend that you have broken yourself in more ways than she can ever imagine? How do you tell her that you've begun chewing away at your own hide to settle your worries, to keep yourself calm during times of great stress? I flinch at the strangled sound I make when I open my mouth, the words I needed not coming out when I'd wanted, instead there's just the sound of an escaped sob, a quiet wail. "Sia, it's me who does that, me. I know when it's not my blood, when my wounds aren't self inflicted. I'm hurting people Sia. I just want to stop but I don't know how." I break the sentence away, letting it fade and carry far from either of us, hoping the subject could simply drop there and we could go back to being careless and happy. 

I meet her demands, trembling and snotty like the child she sees me as, reduced to a muddled mix of emotion and flesh, a pooling figure of moping and self-pity, of recklessness and absolute dread. I was nothing more than a frayed shell harbouring every possible negative emotion and more, a tragic story in the form of a living thing that walks, talks and sobs enough to fill an ocean. I raise my head, hesitant and shaky as I gaze into harsh frozen blue, endless and cold like the steppe, looking down at me and sending fear down my spine. It was no gentle gaze, it would bring me to my knees if I hadn't already been frozen in place with terror of what more would spill from her lips. 

It isn't as terrible as I'd played it out to be, but there was still no warmth to be found in the way her words slide from her lips. My skin still crawls with the feelings of rejection, watery eyes flickering down and up, from dusty sand to stern cerulean oceans, swallowing the knot that kept me from doing more than gasping silently. "I- I don't know what that first step is, I don't know how. I don't know anything," Is what I manage before my voice escapes me and I'm left to move my lips in subtle frustration. I wanted to tell her I needed help, that I couldn't do this on my own, and I almost said it if I had not decided that it would be best to keep shut. I'm sure her response would only bring worsening pain rather than anything beneficial to me.  

I've lost it now, my sense of rationality as I feel my emotions burst through my everything, tearing down every single wall I'd built up in hopes that I could keep running from issues I never wanted to face, not on my own, not with anyone, not ever. I'm choking on the pent up feeling of desperation, of unrequited affections and love that went unspoken. It all spilled out like some raging river to wipe away a valley, abrupt and rumbling, calm before a terrifying wave of panic and all too real feelings. Everything I had ever denied, everything that I'd ever tucked away under the bed, in the closet, behind the shelf, it all came cascading down all at once in a flurry of too much, too much for someone who was so little, so weak. It crashed into me, a storm violent and relentless as it buries me deep within its depths, sputtering and coughing and choking on my own tears as I'm thrown like a rag doll, sobbing beyond control as my head fills with frantic pleas. "Amara, no. Do not say a thing to Sikeax. Now is not the time, you must wait more." But it's all too late, the words are spilling out faster than I can register and my heart falls from my teeth and falls to Sia's hooves and all I can do is look down at it and cry fretfully. 

"Sia I want to be here for you, I- I always feel so bad seeing you and then leaving, and it hurts to walk away. You could be hurt or in trouble and I'm just standing by miles away without even realizing you're in danger and I won't ever know about it unless you tell me and I just— I can't stand being away from you. I've been wanting to get better, I really, really have so that I could find you and make you proud and be here to make you happy—  Sia I just want to be by your side and I've always wanted to... ever since we were kids, Sia." Pause for a half laugh, half sob. These things I'm saying are going faster than I can process, spitting my syllables like it's fire on my tongue, throat closing up by the time they all fall out. The comforting nickname falls from my lips like it's some new fascinating word I'd discovered and can't stop using, letting it end and begin so many sentences. I feel like I might get in trouble for using it, punished by her for saying it so much when we were on such strained terms. "Amara, what did you do? Why did you say those things?" I answer aloud, even though I knew I could tell Sameira mentally, it felt better to explain it to Sia too. "I'm just tired of keeping all of these feelings bottled up, I just—" I swallow hard, looking up into Sia's eyes and trying to keep my focus on them, almost losing myself to the chilling cobalt before I can even finish. "I- I want to have a home, a place to always come back to a—  and you, Sia."This is all I can offer as my emotions run wild, straining my already crumbling body while I whisper the last of my confession, eye lids sweeping over dulling amber. Exhaustion has crept into my joints, weaving through my muscles and pushing me ever closer to collapse, perhaps a long needed sleep. But maybe I would be unfortunate enough to wake up hours later somewhere else, swept away by whatever takes control when the world falls into a dark abyss. 

Why?

Why am I so easily shattered (I love how easy it is to break you), so easily broken by my own hand? Why do I let myself become victim to irrational feelings? I let myself down, I crush myself under the consequences of my actions, under my expectations, letting my useless hopes and dreams sink to my feet where I will not pick them up. Perhaps one day I will bother to look down at them, to realize that I had wanted a future, that I wanted happiness. But I would never get it, I would never achieve any of my dreams, I had let them drop and slip from my grasp as soon as my mind broke. They slipped through my fingers like a handful of sand, pouring down onto the earth beneath me and blowing away in the wind where I could not get to them. Chasing such foolish things was something I learned was pointless, that I'd rather be a purposeless spectator than someone who was determined to do something I never would, that I never could. Even if I had tried, I was never set up to have a good life. 

It was an obvious fact, that as soon as I was born I was destined to fall. I was born with death, for in its wake I sprang weak and unsure, and that was it. There was no helping me. 

But I realized, looking back on it now, that Sia was persistent. She did not give up on me, her constant concern for my well being had always been obvious. I know how ungrateful I was, how selfish and unkind I was. I had never thought for a second anyone could have truly loved me, that those who did were already long dead. Burnt and swept up by the constantly changing tides, my past had been stolen all too early, when I was still fragile and impressionable. And I'd broken myself, punished myself over and over (Stupid, stupid! Idiot, fucking idiot!) until I was just something at your feet to disregard. I'd put myself in this position, and Sia had always been trying to get me out.  

Fucking idiot.

Everything stiffens, every fiber of my being, every hair in the wind, even my tears, have all stopped dead. I am paralyzed in every sense of the word, not even my heart dares to move. I stay like that for what could have been minutes, hours, days, maybe years. It's like the world wants to continue to move around me, to grow and flourish while I am frozen in this moment. I feel the bitterness of the elements against my body, the chill of snow against my spine, the frigid tears the clouds spill out across my back, and finally I felt blossoming flowers at my hooves, grass tickling my ankles and sunlight against my shoulders. I felt birds perch atop my crest, felt predators stalk past under the moon's harsh light and their prey flee into the shadows. I saw the cracks in the earth spread beneath me, watched shadows slither from these crevices, watched sunlight shatter the silence of night each dawn, watched the shadows take the earth back during dusk, the stars dancing ritualistically in celebration. I blink.

One. 

I fall apart at the inhale of a single breath, held for eons in my tormented lungs. It leaves my lips like a secret would, hesitant and subtle with fear of being intercepted. I am torn apart at the seams, bleeding with emotions I'd never experienced or even thought I could experience. I feel gentle hands tentatively caressing the curve of my cheek, the reassurance of someone familiar pushing me back to Sia, back out of my head and into what was real, what was happening. 

Two.

I feel everything getting expelled, everything getting torn from my walls, every picture, every memory, everything I'd spent time on trying to protect myself from the outside world. She was tearing it all down, throwing it all on the floor with the power behind her words. I was a trembling mess, a cowering child in a corner witnessing someone equally as hurt tear down my walls. With her hands the drywall crumbled, the insulation shredded, and the frame splintered. She was there, face to face with me with bloody hands and a messy appearance, rugged and still all grace. And I had no choice but to face her with my blood caked wounds and tear stained face. 

I look at her, I look at her and I tremble and choke and cry. I have been crying, but this was something more. Somehow the tears falling from my face now meant more than they had every night I sobbed for my misfortune, for every moment I spent crying over my mother and father and my loneliness. These tears were genuine, they were raw and beautiful and I was broken. I was a shivering mess with blood on my hands and shards in my wounds. I was damaged and messy but I was here. For once I was present and aware, I was feeling. 

I don't know whether to smile or scrunch my face up and let my snot run and my tears overflow in the same manner as an over emotional child. I don't know what to do because I'm relieved, I'm actually relieved. And even if it's for just a moment, it's wonderful.

Three.


I feel ethereal, like I could close my eyes and get stolen away by the wind. Like I could float steadily over the Throat, over the ocean and through the clouds, that if I tried perhaps I could go beyond just that. I am weightless but heavy all the same, dragged down by my mortal heart that so easily slows me down, denying my dream. But still, I feel myself ghost over to Sia, feel the heat of her skin and feel my lips slide along it, the touch was tender and passionate and filled with all the words I could never find. It was loving and chaste, it was healing and comforting yet overwhelmingly powerful. It spoke in ways I never could, in ways I prayed Sia could understand. 

I blinked, amber refocusing on Sia, who was still there before me, still miles away from me. I feel my heart wrench, chords straining against the stress of my emotional ruin. Columns and roofs, windows and walls, all crumbling apart at how much I longed to touch her. I wanted to show her that I could be gentle and loving, that although I had confessed to being a monster, that was not who I was. It was who they were.

Nothing else matters anymore, not the Skinwalker with their daunting cheshire smile and savage need to tear me apart like some lurking vulture, not the crowded voices pleading for attention, not the mysterious knowledge of murder or battle or other lands' gods. It was insignificant in comparison to the words tumbling from feeble lips, it was all so irrelevant compared to what Sia had to say.

"Thank you— thank you, thank you, thank you, Sia." It spilled out in one sting of words, not even a gasp of air in between as I smile up at her with pure, heartfelt adoration and— love. I love her. It was uncertain at first, I assumed it was love like the way you love your best friend, but no. It was total, unconditional love that traversed the binds of friendship, going above and beyond. I felt it warm in my gut, the weight of my feelings and unspoken words pushing away rationality and reason as I let myself spill out before her, letting her pick apart what I said and taking only what she wanted. "You're the only one, Sia. Everyone else has left, they've all left and they're not coming back. But you— you've always stayed, you've al-always been here. A-and I cannot say enough how tha-nkful I am." I was mumbling and stuttering and disastrous, but I spoke truthfully. Would she know?

Four.

It happens, it happens and my heart races and my lip quivers and I am terrified. Not even the monsters dancing in the edges of my vision can compare to the utter horror I feel welling as I stand open and vulnerable for Sia to look at. I was up for display with my organs exposed, hanging out for flies to buzz around and maggots to infect, for eyes to wander over my pitiful self and then away with new found disgust. 

She cried, she is crying. There are tears in those sparkling blue eyes of hers, tears and despair and I am following suit. Each time she says my name I think it will be the last, that I will just have to savour those last sweet syllables from her lips for the rest of my mundane existence. But what follows is a string of apologies, sewn together with trembling fingers donned in thimbles from the previous mistakes, all the pokes present on the working hands. I moved forward in overwhelmingly large strides, closing the distance between us and praying Sia would not flinch or move back. I'm so close, closer than I had been for a long time. I want to bury my face into her mane and tell her everything, drag her deeper into the darkness of my confessions. But now is not the time. 

Shatter.

I reach to brush at her cheek, to push away the tears that so eagerly fell from her cerulean eyes. I wanted to kiss them away, to replace each tear with a kiss tender and welcoming, to show that I was here. I wanted to kiss away her scars, her frowns, and her pain. If I had to deal with the heavy burden, I would do it. I would do anything for her. I wanted to make it all better for her, to guide her hand in hand to a paradise we had both only dreamed of, to a place where all this pain did not— could not— exist. 

If only. 

I move to wrap my neck around what was accessible of hers, hushing and cooing while she cried. I forgot about my own tears, concerned only for hers now. My tears became insignificant stains upon my cheeks as I caressed her, voice quiet and unsteady. "It's okay, Sia. It's okay. There's no need to apologize— it will be okay. Don't be scared, don't think you need to be sorry, it is not your fault. I'm here." It all comes out, slow and sweet while I bring up my wings, trying to reach towards the warm body before me to hold her even closer. I wanted her to be as close as she could, to make her feel welcomed by my stench ridden body while I tried to calm her. 

I hear her, I hear her words and I muffle a wail of my own. She was offering out a hand, a hand wracked in tremors but a hand none the less. And I was going to take it, I was going to soil it and she was going to regret ever lying with me and sharing stories of her ancestors back when we still didn't know how heartlessly cruel the world could be. I was going to take her hand and I was going to do my own regretting, I was going to regret dragging her into this mess that I should've been dealing with, that she shouldn't be involved in. 

Selfish.

I'm trying not to cry with my head against her neck, but with each word she speaks it grows harder. I'm sobbing and it hurts because my body is fatigued and my eyes sting, but I cry anyway. I push my face further into the soft skin of someone so familiar, exhaling hastily and inhaling sharply as I tried to find something, to grasp at the concept of words. "I'll stay—" I manage, huffing and puffing and feeling my chest shudder against her own. "I'll stay here with you, I- I'll try to be useful here—" I close my eyes and think for a moment, hey, maybe it will all work out. How funny. 

"I'm here now, I'm here and I'll be with you— I'll be here for you and for Zhu." I wanted to tell her that I would carry her burdens, her problems and her sorrows on my back if she so wished. Even if it broke my back I would still push on, I would drag my body and take what weight she had carried and pile it atop my own. I would devote myself to her happiness, to her safety and satisfaction. She could protest all she wished but it would be of no help. I will shoulder your burdens, your sorrows, your guilt and your secrets, I will wipe away your tears and protect everything you hold so dear— I swear.